I was outdoors the other day and saw playful storm clouds tease the distant mountains with dancing light and shadows as passing showers spread a few sprinklings to the valley where I stood in awe.

The distance created the scenic tableau as a singular vision and lit the far-off mountains with a colorful purple brilliance that few see. The light was a prayer with no words. It was a soft embrace with no touch. It was a symphony with a score of soundless music and crescendos brilliant in its silence.

And then I moved to another place of peace and there as if it were a package tied, decorated and ready to be unwrapped by all. It was a high definition opening in a canopy of green to the heightened May blue of the sky.

High, very high, was a circling Eagle. When it twisted in a steep bank the Sun’s reflection on its under-wings made it a precious idol, an auric icon of the Great Spirit’s manifestation in nature.

I have seen and felt the same God-presence in the beauty of a Rose. I have seen and felt the same spiritual connection in the fragrance of a pine forest after a summer rain and in the drifts of snow as into pillowed white softness upon the earth. I have seen and felt the same oneness in the tunes of little birds when they sing their songs of self and joy.

The eagle is now gone, and so is the light on the mountains, but not the image of beauty, not the scent of a fragrance, not the sparkle of light, nor the little bird songs for they are forever in my heart.

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